As GaeligeCúirt an Mhean-Oíche
Brian Merriman
In a literal translation by David Sowby
The Midnight Court
The fair Lady gives a candid and explicit explanation as to why the girl had to find other men to satisfy her.
Brian Brian
Tar éis don ainnir bheith sealad ag éisteacht, After for the girl to be a while listening,
Léim go tapa ina seasamh gan foighne, She leaped quickly to her feet impatiently,
Labhair sí leis agus luisne ina súile She spoke to him with a blaze in her eyes
Agus rabharta feirge feilce fúithi. And a surge of anger of trembling about her.
Spéirbhean Fair Lady
Dá coróinn na Carraige! mura mbeadh le géilleadh By the crown of Crag! if there wouldnít be yielding
Dodí chló, dodí thaibhse agus easpa do chéille To your form, to your showing-off and lack of sense
Agus díainm na h-urrama don chuideachta séimh seo And to the name of the respect of this gentle company,
Do cheann le míigne do sciobfainn ded chaolscrog, Your head with my nails Iíd snatch from thy scraggy neck,
Leagfainn anuas de thuairt ón mbord tú Iíd knock you down with a thud from the table
ëIs dob fhada le lua gach cuairt dá ngeobhainn dó. And itíd be long the telling of every blow Iíd give you,
Stróicfinn sreanga do bheatha le fonn ceart, Iíd tear out the strings of your life with true delight,
Caithfinn díanam go h-Acheron tonnach. Iíd throw your soul to the billowy river of Hell.
Ní fiú liom freagra freastail do tabhairt ort, It isnít worth my while a useful answer to give to you,
A shnámhaire fhleasgaigh nach aithiseach labhartha! You cringer of a rascal, how shameful of speech!
Ach inseod feasta do mhaithe na cúirte But Iíll relate soon to the gentry of the court
An nós inar chailleadh an ainnir nár bhfiú tú. The way in which was ruined the girl you werenítworth.
Bhí sí lag, gan bha, gan phúnta, She was poor, without cows, without pounds,
Bhí sí i bhfaid gan teas, gan clúdach, For long she was without heat, without a roof,
Cortha dá saol, ar strae á seoladh, Wearied of her life, astray in her direction,
Ó phósta go piléar, gan gaol, gan chóngas, From post to pillar, without kin, without a relative,
Gan scíth, gan spás, de lá ná oíche. Without rest, without reprieve, by day and by night.
Ach ag sracadh an aráin ó mhná nár chui léi. But extorting bread from women wasnít fitting for her.
Gheall an fear so greas socúil di, This man promised a spell of comfort to her,
Gheall an spreas so teas ëis clúdach, This good-for-nothing promised heat and a roof,
Cothram glan agus ba le crú di, A fair deal and cows to be milked for her,
Codladh fada ar leaba chlúimh di, A lie-in in a bed of feathers for her,
Teallaí teo ëis móin a dóthain, Warm hearths and enough turf,
Ballaí fód gan leoithne gaoithe, Earth walls without a breath of wind,
Fothain ëis díon ón síon, ón spéir di, Shelter and protection from the weather and sky for her,
Olann ëis líon le sníomh chun éadaigh, Wool and flax to be woven into clothes,
Dob fheasach don saol agus don méid so láithreach It was known to everyone and to this number present
Nach taitneamh, ná téamh, ná aon phioc grá dó That it wasnít liking, nor warmth nor one bit of love for him
A cheangail an péarla maorga mná so, That bound this noble pearl of a woman,
Ach easnamh an tsaoil ëis ba dhéirc léi an tsástacht. But worldly want and it was charity to her the comfort.
Ba dhubhach an fuadar suairceas oíche, It was dismal the prospect of jollity at night,
Smúit ëis ualach, duais ëis líonadh, Gloom and a burden, defection and dropsy;
Lúithní luaidhe agus guaille caola Limbs of lead and thin shoulders
Agus glúine crua chomh fuar le h-oighre ó And hard knees as cold as ice ó
Casta, feoite, dóite ón ngríosach ó Twisted, withered and burned by hot ashes ó
Agus colann dreoite breoite críonna. And a body rotted, sick and old.
An bhfuil stuaire beo ná feofadh liath Is there a belle alive whoíd not wither away, grey,
Ag cuail dá short a bheith pósta riamh? Ever to be married to an old heap of his sort?
Nár chuardaigh fós faoi dhó le bliain Who didnít try to find out, even twice a year,
Cé buachaill óg í, feoil nó iasc, Whether she was a young boy, flesh or fish,
ëSan feofach fuar so suas léi sínte, And this withered cold thing stretched out beside her,
Dreoite, duairc, gan bhua, gan bhíogadh. Decayed, morose, without [any] merit, lifeless.
Och! cár mhór di buaileadh bríomhar Ah! how great for her [would be] a vigorous knocking up
Ar nós ba dhual dhá uair san oíche? As was expected, twice a night?
ëIs go mbífhearr léi cuairt ó bhuachaill scaoilte And itíd be better for her a visit from a loose-living lad
Ná eisean a bheith thuas ó Luan go h-Aoine, Than him to be on her from Monday to Friday,
ëIs go mbíaite léi scathamh de ar leaba tar éis luí di, And sheíd like a stint with him in bed after she lay down,
Ar theacht na maidne ësi dtaca an mheanoíche, At the coming of morning and close to midnight,
Ná orgáin bheannaithe agus spreagaireacht píbe, Rather than holy organs and the stimulation of a bagpipe,
Ná an chláirseach leathan san Gerailt Uí Ghríofa. Nor the broad harp of Gerald Griffin.
Is furas a aithint mo labhairt a bheith díreach, Itís easy to see that my speech is candid,
Bean in aistear ar leanbh naoi míosa, A woman pregnant nine months,
An bás nuair scarann léi ëis a greamanna scaoilte, Death, when it departs from her, and its grips loosened,
Dar láimh mo charadsa! casann sí arís air. By the hand of my friend! she returns again to him.
Nach cloíte an galar so díainnir an mhínchnis What a debilitating disease this for a girl of smooth skin
I gcuibhreach ceangal le seanduine críonna, In a shackle, tied to an ancient old man,
Nár shín a bhachall ëis nár sheasamh chun suíte Who didnít stretch his staff nor stand it up for proper [use]
Ó oíche na marbh go teacht don Fhéilí Bhríde. From All Soulsí night until the eve of Saint Bridgetís Day.
Is crua an tubaist do dhuine bocht fuar Itís hard the misfortune for a person poor and cold,
Anois ag druidim le trí fhichid suas Now approaching three times twenty,
Luí go tirm le bruinneall na gcuach Lying drily with a lovely curly-haired maiden
Gan bhrí, gan bhinneas, ina philib ach fual. Without strength or sweetness in his willy ó only piss.
Anois an dtuigeann sibh, a fhoireann gheal fhial, Now do you understand, oh company good and noble,
Gur bhaois agus buile do chrochaire liath That it was folly and frenzy for a grey-haired free-loader
Bheith ag iarraidh phite agus roic ina ghiall, To be looking for pussy - and him with wrinkles in his jowl,
Agus fear i gcionn fichead go mbífhuras do a riar! And a man near twenty for whom itíd be easy to serve her!
An dóigh go dtuigeann sibh gurab ise ba chiontach Do you really think itís her fault
Ná fós go gcisfeadh ar laige a thamhandacht? That he couldnít even overcome his lack of virility?
An maighre mascalach maisiúil súilghleas ó The handsome girl, vigorous, elegant, grey-eyed ó
Is deimhin go bhfaca sí a mhalairt de mhúineadh! It is certain she experienced a different training!
Ní bheadh sí cortha dá mbíobair an oíche She wouldnít be weary if the night would be [hard] work
Agus thabharfadh sí a chothram do stollaire bríomhar. And sheíd give equal measure to a strong tearaway.
Go brách ar siúl níor dhiútaigh riamh é Forever at it, she never refused it/him
Ar chnámh a cúil ëis a súile iata. On the bone of her back and her eyes closed.
Ní thabharfadh sí preab le stailc mhíchuíosach, She wouldnít give a jump with ill-tempered sulkiness,
Fogha mar chat ná srac ná scríobadh, An attack like a cat nor a slash nor a scratch,
Ach í go léir ina slaoda sínte, But she entirely stretched out in voluptuousness,
Ó scéal go scéal ag bréagadh a smaointe Bit by bit seducing his thoughts
Taobh ar thaobh ëis a géag ina thimpeall, Side by side and her limbs around him
Beol ar bheol ëis ag méaraíocht síos air. Mouth on mouth and fingering downwards on him.
Is minic a chuir sí a cos taobh anonn de, Itís often she put her leg over him,
ëIs chuimil a bruis ó chrios go glúin de. And stroked her bush from belt to knee of him.
Sciobadh sí an chuilt ësan phluid dá gúngha, She used to snatch the quilt and blanket from his arse,
Ag spriongadh ës ag sult le moirt gan subhachas. Playing and toying with a cheerless old fellow.
Is minic a ghlac sí a shlat neamhbhríomhar, Itís often she handled his impotent rod
ëIs chuimil dá clais a chab ëna síoghinneach, And rubbed in her pussy his knob with a frenzy,
Chuireadh go fras é ar faid ëna mínchrobh Used to place it nimbly along her soft hand
Agus ní phriocadh an spreas chun bailí ná bíogadh. And used not to goad the wretch to frenzy or vigour.
Is minic a leathnaigh sí ceapaire mín dó, Itís often she set a buttered slice of bread before him,
Bleathach ubh lachan ëis, gan dearmad, uibbeacha cearc; An egg-flip of duck-eggs, not forgetting hensí eggs;
Thugadh dó bainne ina theas agus im air She used to give him milk warmed up with butter in it
Agus bhíodh a thafann go gcaithfeadh é dhíogadh; And used to be nagging until he had to drink it;
Bhí sé chomh maith aici a chaitheamh san aoileach, She might as well throw it in the manure,
Nó a thabhairt don madra a chasadh na caoirigh, Or give it to the dog bringing [in] the sheep,
Seoch a thabhairt do chamarthach, seanduine sraoilleach, As to give it to a vile wretch, a streelish old man,
Suarach, seirgthe, gan aiteas, gan aoibhneas. Mean, withered, without fun, without gladness.
Is fada san ainnis í, go dealbh á choimhdeacht. Itís long sheís in misery, destitute in his company.
Buartha, cathach ag meathrán ríceach, Troubled, lamenting a weakling wastrel,
Mura mbuaileadh scafaire nó taistealach timpeall Were it not for a bold lad or a traveller whoíd drop around
Uair san tseachtain a ghreas go folaitheach. Once a week, and do his business on the quiet.
Níor chabhair di cuimilt a choigilt ná fáscadh It wasnít a help to her to spare rubbing nor hugging
Fogha dá h-uillin, dá h-ingne, dá sála, A jab of her elbows, her nails or her heels,
Is náirí dúinn aithris mar a chaitheadh sí an oíche Itís a shame for us to recount how she spent the night
Ag fáscadh an chnaiste, ag searradh ëis ag síneadh; Gripping the great lump, shrugging and stretching;
Nach furas don lobhar so labhairt ar mhná. How easy for this leper to speak about ladies.
Agus gan fuinneamh ina chabhail ná cabhair ina chnámha.And without vigour in his body nor help in his bones.
Má díimigh an modhúil a bhí trom ina ghá If the gentle lady left, who needed it badly,
ëIs gur sciob sise an fogha san, gabhaimse a páirt! And as she snatched that chance, I myself support her!