7
Oh! the boys of Kilkenny are brave roaring blades,
And if ever they meet with the nice little maids,
They’ll kiss them, and coax them, and spend their money free.
Of all the towns in Ireland, Kilkenny for me.
In the town of Kilkenny there runs a clear stream.
In the town of Kilkenny there lives a fair dame,
Her lips are like roses, and her mouth much the same.
Like a dish of fresh strawberries smother’d in cream
Her eyes are as black as Kilkenny’s large coal.
Which in my poor bosom have burnt a large hole ;
Her mind, like its river, is mild, clear, and pure,
But her heart is more hard than its marble, I’m sure.
Kilkenny’s a pretty town, and shines where it stands,
The more I think on it, the more my heart warms,
For if I was at Kilkenny, I’d think myself at home.
For it’s there I get sweethearts, but here I get none.
—
I love you by Heaven, what can I say more ?
Then set not my passion a-cooling ;
If you yield not at once, I must e’en give thee o’er.
For I am but a novice at fooling.
