Morris was able to use his position as a Protestant, and as sheriff, to have Ó Laoghaire outlawed. A price of 20 guineas was put on his head. Once proclaimed an outlaw, he could be shot at sight legally. Ó Laoghaire attempted and failed to ambush Morris at Millstreet and soon after was shot at Carraig an Ime. His mare raced into Rathleigh, riderless, soaked in blood. Eibhlín Dubh mounted the mare and galloped back to Carraig an Ime, where she found Art's body. Cultural background Eibhlín Dubh and her family lived in an Irish-speaking countryside, but they themselves, as gentry, spoke both Irish and English (the latter being the language of their letters). The ancient Irish custom of fosterage, whereby children of the gentry were brought up in their formative years by local farming families, with their foster sisters and brothers as constant companions thereafter, meant that Irish was as familiar to them as English. Irish was the language of their deepest emotional utterance, hence the language of mourning. Lament The Caoineadh was composed by Eibhlín Dubh extempore with contributions from Art's father and sister, and is characteristic of an ancient tradition. It survived in the oral tradition in various versions, the two most complete being supplied by Nóra Ní Shíndile from Boolymore (An Bhuaile Mhór) in County Cork, who died in 1873 at the age of a hundred or thereabouts. It was not written down until decades after its composition. It is composed in the ancient metre called "rosc," commonly used for such laments, and incorporates traditional themes: the deceased is praised, his exploits remembered, vengeance threatened on his enemies, and he himself called back to life. Mo chara thu is mo chuid! A mharcaigh an chlaímh ghil, Éirigh suas anois, Cuir ort do chulaith Éadaigh uasail ghlain, Cuir ort do bhéabhar dubh, Tarraing do lámhainní umat. Siúd í in airde d'fhuip, Sin í do láir amuigh. Buailse an bóthar caol úd soir Mar a maolóidh romhat na toir, Mar a gcaolóidh romhat an sruth, Mar a n-umhlóidh romhat mná is fir, Má tá a mbéasa féin acu - 'S is baolach liomsa ná fuil anois. (My friend and my darling! Horseman of the bright sword, rise up now, put on your spotless, noble clothes, put on your black hat, draw on your gloves. Up there hangs your whip, there outside is your mare. Travel that narrow road