JOHN KINSELLA'S LAMENT FOR MRS. MARY MOORE I A BLOODY and a sudden end, Gunshot or a noose, For Death who takes what man would keep, Or leaves what man would lose. He might have had my sister, My cousins by the score, But nothing satisfied the old fool But my dear Mary Moore, None other knows what pleasures man At table or in bed. What shall I do for pretty girls Now my old bawd is dead? II Though stiffer at a bargain, That any old Jew man, Her bargain struck we laughed and talked And emptied many a can; And O! but she had stories, Though not for the priest's ear, To keep the soul of man alive And banish age and care, And being old she put a skin On everything she said. What shall I do for pretty girls Now my old bawd is dead? I have heard it said in chapel That but for Adam's sin Eden's Garden should still be there And I be there within. No expectation fails there, No pleasing habit ends, No man grows old, no girl grows cold But friend still walks by friend; No quarrels over ha'pence there They pluck the trees for bread? What shall I do for pretty girls Now my old bawd is dead?