Song of Saint Patrick
Ye laddies and ye lassies,
Please bear my words a while,
(I hope my thoughts, you'll hear them out,
That against me ye won't rile):
What is it that yer drinkin' fer,
The reason won't yeh say
That you have come in celebration
Of St. Patrick's Day?
I'm not bitter, I'm not angry,
I hope I don't sound mean,
But what's the cause of all the shamrocks
And your wearin' o' the green?
Who was this ancient namesake,
Oh kindly won't you tell?
You don't know? Well then I'll share with you,
If you let me sit a spell.
'Twas not, in fact, in Ireland
Was born their patron saint,
But south in Roman Britain
-Though memory waxes faint
Of the exact location of Banna Venta Berniae
(Perhaps Ravenglass in Cumbria,
But none can truly say).
In this place forgotten
Maewyn Succat first stepped on the earth
Back 'round 387
(The assumed year of his birth);
His grandpa was a priest
And his father was a deacon--
Amidist the pagan tribes
Maewyn became a Christian beacon.
Around year 402
A voice came to the young man,
It told him to keep his patience,
That there was, for him, a plan:
Maewyn must keep his faith and pray
He need only to wait,
He later would be instructed
And rescued from his impending state.
It was God's plan soon after
That Maewyn was taken in a raid
Up to Pagan Ireland
And a slave of him was made
From the time he had sixteen years
'Til he was twenty-two,
He praid daily to his creator
As his faith yet stronger grew.