Crying, och hone, Widow Machree.
Then take my advice, darling Widow Machree,
Och hone, Widow Machree,
And with my advice, faith, I wish you’d take me,
Och hone, Widow Machree.
You’d have me to desire.
Then to stir up the fire,
And sure hope is no liar,
In whispering to me,
That the ghosts would depart,