O woman of Three Cows, agrá! don’t let your
     tongue thus rattle!
O, don’t be saucy, don’t be stiff, because you
     may have cattle.
I have seen - and, here’s my hand to you, I only
     say what’s true -
A many a one with twice your stock not half so
     proud as you.

Good luck to you, don’t scorn the poor, and don’t
     be their despiser,
For worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats
     the very miser,
And Death soon strips the proudest wreath from
     haughty human brows;
Then don’t be stiff, and don’t be proud, good
     Woman of Three Cows!

See where Momonia’s heroes lie, proud Owen
     More’s descendants,
’Tis they that won the glorious name, and had the
     grand attendants!
If they were forced to bow to Fate, as every
     mortal bows,
Can you be proud, can you be stiff, my Woman of
     Three Cows!

The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they left the
     land to mourning;
Mavrone! for they were banished, with no hope of
     their returning
Who knows in what abodes of want those youths
     were driven to house?
Yet you can give yourself these airs, O Woman of
     Three Cows!

O, think of Donnell of the Ships, the Chief whom
     nothing daunted
See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronicled,
     unchanted!
He sleeps, the great O’Sullivan, where thunder
     cannot rouse -

Then ask yourself, should you be proud, good
     Woman of Three Cows!

O’Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose
     names are shrined in story
Think how their high achievements once made
     Erin’s highest glory
Yet now their bones lie mouldering under weeds
     and cypress boughs,
And so, for all your pride, will yours, O Woman of
     Three Cows!

The O’Carrolls, also, famed when Fame was only
     for the boldest,
Rest in forgotten sepulchres with Erin’s best and
     oldest;
Yet who so great as they of yore in battle or
     carouse?
Just think of that, and hide your head, good
     Woman of Three Cows!

Your neighbour’s poor, and you, it seems, are big
     with vain ideas,
Because, inagh! you’ve got three cows - one
     more! see, than she has.
That tongue of yours wags more at times than
     Charity allows,
But if you’re strong, be merciful, great Woman of
     Three Cows!

Now, there you go! You still, of course, keep up
     your scornful bearing,
And I’m too poor to hinder you; but, by the cloak
     I’m wearing,
If I had but four cows myself, even though you
     were my spouse,
I’d thwack you well to cure your pride, my Woman
     of Three Cows!