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Under the Round Tower
| Although Id lie lapped up in linen | | A deal Id sweat and little earn | | If I should live as live the neighbours, | | Cried the beggar, Billy Byrne; | | Stretch bones till the daylight come | | On great-grandfathers battered tomb. | | | | | | Upon a grey old battered tombstone | | In Glendalough beside the stream, | | Where the OByrnes and Byrnes
are buried, | | He stretched his bones and fell in a dream | | Of sun and moon that a good hour | | Bellowed and
pranced in the round tower; | | | | | | Of golden king and silver lady, | | Bellowing up and bellowing round, | | Till toes
mastered a sweet measure, | | Mouth mastered a sweet sound, | | Prancing round and prancing up | | Until they
pranced upon the top. | | | | | | That golden king and that wild lady | | Sang till stars began to fade, | | Hands gripped
in hands, toes close together, | | Hair spread on the wind they made; | | That lady and that golden king | | Could
like a brace of blackbirds sing. | | | | | | Its certain that my luck is broken, | | That rambling jailbird Billy said; | | Before
nightfall Ill pick a pocket | | And snug it in a feather-bed. | | I cannot find the peace of home | | On great-
grandfathers battered tomb. |
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