Nothing at all.
In Derry Down Dale when I wanted a mate,
I went with my daddy a courting to Kate,
With my nosegay so fine and my holiday clothes
My hands in my pockets, a courting I goes;
The weather was cold and my bosom was hot,
My heart in a gallop, my mare in a trot;
Now I was so bashful and loving withal,
My tongue stuck to my mouth and I said, no-
thing at all.
But fol de rol.
When I got to the door I look’d lumpish and
glum,
The knocker I held ’twixt my finger and thumb,
Tap went the rapper, and Kate shew’d her chin,
She chuckl’d and duckl’d I bow’d and went in.
Now I was bashful as bashful could be,
And Kitty poor soul was as bashful as me;
So I bow’d, and she grinn’d and I let my hat fall,
Then I smil’d scratch’d my head, and said no-
thing at all.
But fol de rol.
If bashful was I no less bashful the maid,
She simper’d, and toy’d with her apron string
play’d
