O, look at her now—she retreating, advancing,
And stepping and stopping, and gliding and glancing!
There wasn't a one was her marrow at dancing
Of all the young maidens who danced at the Fair.
O Kitty, O Kitty, O Kitty Adare,
Till the music was beaten you danced to it there;
And the fiddler, poor fellow, the way that he was in,
Him sweating for six and his bow wanting rosin,
He was put past the fiddling a month—all because in
A pair of green shoes Kitty danced at the Fair!