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​Sir Richard Bingham

This song is by Rita Connolly and appears on the album Granuaile (1985).

Bingham was wounded
When he fell in the cold waters of Lough Mask
He must have heard laughter
For to see his countenance he looks right ill
And it seems like thunder, looks like rain

Inish Glora, Eagles in the darkening sky
Carrick Monagh, heaving over with a cursing eye
And it seems like thunder, looks like rain

Sir Richard Bingham, I will not yield
To your lovely Lady Elizabeth
Whose duty you betray

Bingham who watches
He would beggar my kingdom by new laws
I wish him to America
There to die on a Spanish sword
And it seems like thunder, looks like rain

Meet me off Erris
Meet me in four fathom close to shore
But burn no lantern
The Gallowglass go to Iar-Connaught
And it seems like thunder, looks like rain

Sir Richard Bingham, I will not yield
To your lovely Lady Elizabeth
Whose duty you betray

I burned the houses
Spoiled the cattle of Murrough my son
For he went against me
When all my horse and beef were run
And it seems like thunder, looks like rain

I've seen the gallows
And mourned Owen and prayed for the life
Of Tibbot held hostage
He shall have my ships he shall have my guns
And it seems like thunder, looks like rain

Sir Richard Bingham, I will not yield
To your lovely Lady Elizabeth
Whose duty you betray

Sir Richard Bingham, I will not grieve
When the devil take you underneath the grass
And thorn grow upon your grave

Old Sandy Mullet
Set all jib-sails to run free of
Duvills riptide
In the Bulls Mouth the channel fills
And it seems like thunder, looks like rain

The willow tree bendeth
The willow gives in the strongest wind
But the oak tree tumbles
Rent asunder limb by limb
And it seems like thunder, looks like rain

I've been to Ulster
With O'Neil and O'Donnell I spoke
Of seaman's rumour
Of an army sailing from Northern Spain