Lift Mac Cahir Og your face,   Brooding o’er the old disgrace,   That black Fitzwilliam stormed your place   And drove you to the Fern   Grey said victory was sure,   Soon the firebrand he’d secure   Until he met at Glenmalure,   Feach Mac Hugh O’Byrne     See the swords of Glen Imayle,   Flashing o’er the English Pale   See all the children of the Gael,   Beneath O’Byrne’s banners   Rooster of the fighting stock,   Would you let a Saxon cock   Crow out upon an Irish rock,   Fly up and teach him manners     Curse and swear Lord Kildare   Feach will do what Feach will dare   Now Fitzwilliam, have a care   Fallen is your star low   Up with halbert, out with sword   On we go for by the Lord   Feach Mac Hugh has given his word   Follow me up to Carlow     From Tassagart to Clonmore,   Flows a stream of Saxon gore