I have a whim to speak in verse

I have a whim to speak in verse,
If you will list what I rehearse
(For an unheeded tale, I wisse,
Not worth a clove of garlic is).
Please you then to understand
'Tis of a town in Ireland
For its size the one most fair
That I know of anywhere.

But the town had cause of dread
In the feud two barons spread:
Sir Maurice and Sir Walter--see,
Here their names shall written be.
Also that fair city's name:
"Ross' they then did call the same.
'Tis the new bridge-town of Ross
Which no walls did then inclose . . .

Commons both, and leading men,
Gathered in the council then,
What for safety to devise
In shortest time and lowest price.
'Twas that round the town be thrown
Walls of mortar and of stone . . .

Candlemas it was the day
They began to delve in clay
Marking out a fosse, to show
Where the future wall should go.
Soon 'twas traced, and then were hired
Workmen, all the task desired.
More than a hundred workmen ply
Daily 'neath the townsmen's eye,
Yet small advance these fellows made
Though to labour they were paid.

So the council sat again.
Such a law as they passed then!
Such a law might not be found
Nor on French nor English ground.
Next day a summons read aloud
Gathered speedily a crowd;
When the law proclaimed they hear
'Twas received with many a cheer:
Vintners, drapers, merchants, all
Were to labour at the wall! . . .

Monday, they began their labours,
Gay with banners, flutes and tabors.
Soon as the noon hour was come
These good people hastened home
With their banners proudly borne.
Then the youth advanced in turn
And the town they made it ring
With their merry carolling;
Singing loud and full of mirth
Away they go to shovel earth.
And the priests, when Mass was chanted,
In the fosse they dug and panted.
Quicker, harder, worked each brother,
Harder far than any other,
For both old and yound did feel
Great and strong with holy zeal.
Mariners came next, and they
Pass'd along in fair array
With their banners borne before
Which a painted vessel bore . . .

Tuesday came coat-makers, tailors,
Fullers, cloth-dyers and "sellers',
Right good hands, these jolly blades,
Were they counted at their trades . . .

Wednesday, following, down there came
Other bands who worked the same:
Butchers, cordwainers, and tanners
Bearing each their separate banners . . .

Thursday came the fishermen
And the hucksters followed then,
Who sell corn and fish: they bear
Divers banners, for they were
Full four hundred: and the crowd
Carolled and sung aloud;
And the wainwrights, they came too--
They were only thirty-two;
A single banner went before,
Which a fish and platter bore.

On Friday came the porters then,
Three hundred fifty solid men;
Their banners out before them toss
Along the margin of the fosse.

Then Saturday the stir
Of blacksmith, mason, carpenter
. . . And they toiled with main and might;
Needful knew they 'twas, and right.

Until on Sunday there came down
All the dames of that brave town
. . . On the ramparts there were thrown
By their fair hands many a stone
. . . In no lands where I have been
Such fair dames digging have I seen
. . . Many a banner was displayed
While the work the ladies aid.
When their gentle hands had done
Piling up rude heaps of stone
Then they walked the fosse along
Singing sweet a cheerful song;
And returning to the town
All these rich dames there sat down
Where, with mirth and wine and song
Pass'd the pleasant hours along.

Then they said a gate they'd make,
Called the Ladies', for their sake,
And their prison there should be.
Whoso entered, straightway he
Should forgo his liberty.
Lucky doom I ween is his,
Who a lady's prisoner is;
Light the fetters are to wear
Of a lady kind and fair.
But of them enough is said,
Turn we to the fosse instead.

Twenty feet that fosse is deep,
And a league in length doth creep.
When the noble work is done,
Watchmen then there needeth none:
All may sleep in peace and quiet
Without a fear of eveil riot.
Fifty thousand might attack
And yet might turn them bootless back.
. . . I warrant you the town's prepared
'Gainst all enemies to guard.

Here I deem it meet to say
No desire for war have they
But to keep their city free.
Blamed of no man can they be.
When that wall is carried round
None in Ireland will be found
Bold enough to dare to fight.
Let a foeman come in sight,
If the city horn twice sound
Every brugess will be found
Eager in the warlike labour
Striving to outdo his neighbour.

So God give them victory!
And say amen for charity.
In no other isle is known
Such a hospitable town;
Joyously the people greet
Every stranger in the street.
Free is he to sell and buy
And sustain no tax thereby.
Town and people once again
I commend to God. Amen!
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