“Ye are guilty of the Great Offence! 
  Ye have spilt the blood of innocence.”

And yet another woman said: 

   “O Lord Christ come to me! 
    Nay, no longer tarry! 
  With my son, home to Thee
    My soul quickly carry! 
  O Mary great, O Mary mild,
    Of God’s One Son the Mother,
  What shall I do without my child,
    For I have now no other. 
  For Thy Son’s sake my son they slew,
    Those murderers inhuman;
  My sense and soul they slaughtered too,
    I am but a crazy woman. 
  Yea! after that most piteous slaughter,
  When my babe’s life ran out like water,
  The heart within my bosom hath become
  A clot of blood from this day till the Doom!”

THE KEENING OF MARY

Taken down by Patrick H. Pearse from Mary Clancy of Moycullen, who keened it with great horror in her voice, in a low sobbing recitative.

  Mary.  “O Peter, O Apostle, my bright Love, hast thou found him?”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”

  Peter.  “Even now in the midst of His foemen I found Him.” 
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”

  Mary.  “Come hither, ye two Marys, and my bright love be keening.” 
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”

  The two Marys.  “If His body be not with us, sure our keene had little
    meaning.” 
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”

  Mary.  “Who is yonder stately Man on the Tree His passion showing?”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”

  Christ.  “O Mother, thine own son, can it be thou art not knowing.” 
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”

  Mary.  “And is that the little son whom nine months I was bearing?”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”
      “And is that the little son in the stall I was caring? 
      And is that the little son this Mary’s breast was draining?”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”

  Christ.  “Hush thee, hush thee, Mother, and be not so complaining.”

  Mary.  “And is this the very hammer that struck the sharp nails thro’ thee?”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”
      “And this the very spear that thy white side pierced and slew thee?”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”
      “And is that the crown of thorns that thy beauteous head is caging?”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”

  Christ.  “Hush, Mother, for my sake thy sorrow be assuaging.” 
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”
      “For thy own love’s sake thy cruel sorrow smother!”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”
      “The women of my keening are unborn yet, little Mother!”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”
      “O woman, why weepest thou my death that leads to pardon?”
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”
      “Happy hundreds, to-day, shall stray through Paradise Garden.” 
      “M’ochon agus m’ochon, O!”