Croppies Lie Down

"Croppies Lie Down" is a British folk song, dating from the 1798 rebellion in Ireland, that celebrates the defeat of the Irish rebels. The author has been reported as George Watson-Taylor.^[1]

This song illustrates the deep divisions which existed in Ireland at the time of the 1798 rebellion. Irish Catholics, and to a lesser extent Dissenters, were legally excluded from political and economic life. The Kingdom of Great Britain was at war with revolutionary France at the time, and Irish republicans were encouraged by rumours that France would invade the island. The lyrics describe the rebels as treacherous cowards and those fighting them as brave defenders of the innocent. "Croppies" meant people with closely cropped hair, a fashion associated with the French revolutionaries, in contrast to the wigs favoured by the aristocracy. In George Borrow's 1862 travel book Wild Wales, the author comes upon an itinerant Irish fiddler and asks him to play the tune.

"We soldiers of Erin, so proud of the name, We'll raise on the rebels and Frenchmen our fame; We'll fight to the last in the honest old cause, And guard our religion, our freedom and laws; We'll fight for our country, our King and his crown, And make all the traitors and croppies lie down. Down, down, croppies lie down.

The rebels so bold, when they've none to oppose, To houses and haystacks are terrible foes; They murder poor parsons and likewise their wives, At the sight of a soldier they run for their lives; Whenever we march over country and town In ditches and cellars the croppies lie down. Down, down, croppies lie down.

In Dublin the traitors were ready to rise And murder was seen in their lowering eyes With poison, the cowards, they aimed to succeed And thousands were doomed by the assassins to bleed But the yeoman advanced, of rebels the dread And each croppy soon hid his dastardly head Down, down, croppies lie down.

Si Francia alguna vez intenta, por fraude o por astucia, desembarcar sus fuerzas en la verde isla de Irlanda, demostraremos que jamás podrán hacer soldados libres, esclavos, solo poseerán nuestros verdes campos como tumbas; los aplausos de nuestra patria coronarán nuestros triunfos, mientras con sus hermanos franceses yacen los campesinos. Abajo, abajo, campesinos, yacen.

Oh, granjeros, mejor callad y quietos No tendréis vuestra libertad, haced lo que queráis Mientras haya agua salada en las profundidades Mantendremos un pie en el cuello del granjero Y beberemos, como en los baches, ahogamos los problemas pasados, Salud a los muchachos que hicieron que los granjeros se tumbaran Abajo, abajo, granjeros, tumbaos."

• El río Boyne
• Lillibullero

• Letra completa de Croppies Lie Down