Summary

Bampton Hunt Folk Tales of Breffny

You will be expectant of the story of a king, and he walking the provinces of Ireland a skeleton and a warning to the eyes of man. But the aged and wise have understanding to know of the tribulation laid out for the good and the just, they putting their sorrows over them in this world where the evil have prosperity. The like will be enduring for a short space only, and a queer fate waits the wicked in the age-long hours of eternity. Proud is the tyrant and wealthy till they set him in the clay: humbled with fear is his spirit at the journey’s end.
Source: Gutenberg

Bampton Hunt Folk Tales of Breffny

He was a cruel tyrant surely and prouder than the High King of Ireland or O’Rourke was a Prince in Breffny. He conceited for to build a house would stand to the end of time, a stronghold past the art of man to overthrow or the fury of the wind to batter down. He gave out that all the bullocks in his dominions were to be slaughtered and mortar wet with the blood of them. Evenly the cows were not spared at the latter end, the way a powerful lamentation went up from the poor of the world were looking on the lonesome fields.
Source: Gutenberg

Bampton Hunt Folk Tales of Breffny

With that the young gentleman began telling the secrets of his heart.
“It is no disease is on me,” says he, “but a terrible misfortune.”
“’Tis heart scalded I am that you have either a sorrow or a sickness, and you grand to look on and better to listen to,” says the other.
“It is in love I am,” says M’Carthy.
“And how would that be a misfortune to a fine lad like yourself?” asks the man.
“Let you never let on!” says M’Carthy. “The way of it is this: I am lamenting for no lady is walking the world, nor for one is dead that I could be following to the grave.
Source: Gutenberg

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