Lyrics

There was an Irish farmer and he had a rusty mare
He brought her out to sell her at the Cardonagh fair
His son he goes along with him saying I’ll do my very best
For to praise the mare if anyone her pedigree request.

So he wasn’t long in the market till a buyer came along
Saying she’s game and full of action but her limbs they aren’t strong
But for whatever she’s on offer I hope you won’t incline
If you take eleven guineas the mare she shall be mine.

He paid him down the money and took the mare away
To a stable around the corner he had rented for the day
He clipped the mare all over and he trimmed her tail and mane
And in less than half an hour she was back in the fair again.

With a bridle and a saddle and a rider on her back
She looked so like a racer going to run upon the track
The farmer who had sold the mare seeing her trotting down the square
Never thinking for one minute that she was the rusty mare.

He whispered to his son there’s a mare would like to buy
She’s game and full of action and pleasing to the eye
He asked the price of her the rider turned around
Saying if you give me twenty guineas I’ll give you back a pound.

He viewed the mare all over and then with a spell
He paid down the money for he like the mare so well
He brought her home that evening and when coming up to the lane
Who was waiting for him but his little daughter Jane.

She called lightly to her mamma the mare they didn’t sell
She’s clipped you’d hardly know her but her walk you’d know quite well
Her mamma hurried quickly saying you’re welcome from the fair
But Seán a mhic come tell me quick why you didn’t sell the mare

You clipped her once and well you know she caught a terrible cold
And how can she escape it now a mare so thin and old
Throw off your blarney Seán replied throw off all your jest
It’s thanking God you ought to be that I took the very best.

‘I sold the mare eleven pounds she brought me on the clear
And this one cost me twenty pounds and that’s in no way dear
If that be so the wife replied sure you were badly taken in
For if you sold her Seán a mhic you bought her back again.

But sure where’s the use of talking now my temper I’ll keep cool
For it’s now I know that many’s a year you were a born fool
To think a child of seven years old how well she knew the mare
She wouldn’t be tricked o Seán a mhic if she was at the fair.