A Connacht Caoine

Draw near to the tables, ye that wear the cloaks;
Here ye have flesh, but it is not roast flesh,
Nor boiled in pots, nor cooked for feasting,
But my dear Bourke-och, och after been slain.

You, young women, who are drinking wine there,
Let my sharp screeches pierce your heart.
If I am wise I may get whatever is my lot,
But you will never-och, och. och-get another brother!

O young woman, don't you pity my sorrow/
My mourning over the bier of my spouse?
A lock of his hair is within my purse,
And his offspring-och, och-hidden within me!