Follow Me Up To Carlow
* * *
Lift Mac Cahir Og your face,
Brooding o'er the old disgrace
That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place,
Drove you to the fern.
Grey said victory was sure,
Soon the firebrand he'd secure,
Until he met at Glenmalure
With Fiach MacHugh O'Byrne.

See the swords at Glen Imaal
They flash all over the English Pale
See all the children of the Gael
Beneath O'Byrne's banners.
Rooster of a fighting stock
Would you let a Saxon cock
Crow out upon an Irish rock?
Fly up and teach him manners.

From Tassagart to Clonmore
There flows a stream of Saxon gore.
Well great is Rory Og O More
At sending the loons to Hades.
White is sick, Grey is fled;
Now for black Fitzwilliam's head.
We'll send it over dripping red
To Liza and her ladies.

Curse and swear, Lord Kildare.
Fiach will do, what Fiach will dare.
Now Fitzwilliam, have a care,
Fallen is your star low.
Up with halberd, up the sword,
On we'll go for, by the Lord,
Fiach MacHugh has given the word;
Follow me up to Carlow.