Casadh an tSúgáin – the Twisting of the Rope

Casadh an tSúgáin The Twisting of the [Straw] Rope

*The Twisting of the Rope is a metaphor for the fortunes of love.

Also: As you twist the straw rope, you have to walk backwards while it ravels. The girl’s mother makes him walk backwards twisting the rope till he’s outside the door, then slams it shut!

A Rí na bhfeart cad do chas Oh Almighty King,

Ins a' dúiche seo mé? What drove me to this district?

'S gur mó cailín deas a gheobhainn When ’tis many a fine lass

Im' dhúthaigín beag féin – I'd have found in my own townland –

Gur casadh mé isteach mar a raibh searc I called into the house

Agus rún geal mo chléibh, Of my own true love,

Is chuir an tseanbhean amach mé And the old woman put me twisting rope

Ag casadh an tsúgáinín féir! 'Til I was outside the door!

Curfá: Chorus (after each verse):

Má bhíonn tú liom, bí liom If you'll be mine, (then) be mine

A stóirín mo chroí, Oh little treasure of my heart ,

Ma bhíonn tú liom, bí liom If you'll be mine, be mine

Os comhair an tsaoil: Before the whole world:

Ma bhíonn tú liom, bí liom If you'll be mine, be mine

Gach orlach de do chroí – From every inch of your heart –

Is é mo léan go fann nach liom Bitter my futile woe that you are not

Dé Domhnaigh thú mar mhnaoí. My wife this Sunday.

Tá mo cheannsa liath le bliain, My head is gray since this year,

Is ní le críonnacht é – And it's not from old age –

Ní bheathaíonn na briathra Fair words butter

Na bráithre pé sa domhan scéal é... No parsnips [or parsons!] anyway...

Is táim i do dhiaidh le bliain I'm after you now for a year

Is gan fáil agam ort féin And I’m getting nowhere with you

Is gur geall le fia mé ar sliabh And I'm like a deer on the moor

Go mbeadh gáir chon ina dhéidh. And the hounds yelping after me.

Do threabfainn, d'fhuirsinn, I'd plough, I'd toil,

Chuirfinn síol ins a' chré, I'd sow seed in the clay,

'S do dhéanfainn obair shocair And I'd do a steady job

Álainn, mhín, réidh; Beautiful, smooth and even;

Do chuirfinn crú fén each I'd shoe the maddest horse

Is mire shiúil riamh ar féar – Ever to walk on grass –

Is ná héalódh bean le fear And the woman still wouldn't elope

Ná déanfadh san féin. With a man who'd do all that.

Notes

*mar mhnaoi: the old Dative Case of ‘bean’. Mod Irish = mar bhean [chéile]