12
Sleep, boy, sleep,
Dhrame, boy, dhrame;
The cat is in the counting-house.
Hush, boy, hush,
Hushie, bowie, bow,
Rixum, raxum, pring, prash,
Cock-a-lory now.
I think it’s asleep he is at last, but I wouldn’ thruss his weather eye is open for all. Let’s have a look. [Bends over cradle. Child turns over and flings his fist in Hommy’s face.] Ogh, murther! Is that the way he’s sleepin’. I’ll have to put a rale charm on him for all.
Mrs. Gale returns with turves in her apron. Hommy takes them from her and packs them on fire. Mrs. Gale watches uneasily. Hommy takes the bellows.
Hommy: Now sit you down there with your back to him, an’ take you that waistcut an’ stitch for your life. An’ whatever you do don’t look round or you’ll be murthered with fright.
Hommy blows turves. Child rises up, wringing his hands and begins to wail and roar; then getting out of cradle, sings:–
Roie, roie, roie shoh, ta mee yllagh,
Lossaghyn, lossaghyn, ta mee gred.
Enter Witches, with besoms. Chorus:–
Butcheragh, butcheragh,
Skeab orroo!
Boir ad, stroie ad,
Skeab orroo!
Child:
Ogh hogh, tar da’n bogh,
Caillyn croutagh.
Cur yn sleih dourin treih,
Skeab orroo!
Chorus–Butcheragh, &c.
Child:
Unnysup gow ad.
Omnes:
Unnysup yoiw ad.
Pishaghyu, guinaghyn vermayd sleih.
Chorus–Butcheragh, &c.
All gallop off on their broomsticks, child leading, and singing butcheragh, etc.
Mrs. Gale: Aw Hommy, Hommy, what’s doin’ in at all?
Keeps her face hidden.
Hommy [standing up and rubbing himself]: Aw, butcheragh thremenjus. Did you hear them creechin’, Mrs. Gale?
