The riddle

Raise us a riddle as spinning we sit.

P'raps I have one that your fancy will fit.

Come, then advance it with all of your wit.

Some have got the barley showin',

Some a purty patch of oats,

Others just the praties growin'

With a mountainside for goats.

Come with me through meadows flow'ry

Up where furze and heather blow,

If my secret golden dowry,

Lasses, you would like to know.

Surely hid treasure is in your head.

Wrongly my riddle this time you have read.

Come, give us hold of a stronger thread.

How is this my herds can utter

Of themselves the milk all day,

Churn and turn it into butter

Faix and firkin it safe away.

Kerry cows upon their brows

Bear a pair of branching horns;

But my kind they wear behind

One, only one, like Unicorns.

Ah, then, your herds are the bees on the height.

Deed and this time you've guessed right.

Pleasant the riddle you put us tonight.