Was any tidins' seen,
Of me owld purse, me forty pound!
Or of the Fairy Queen!
Then, whin I thought of Norah's wrath,
An' what a power she'd say,
Me fine black hair, riz on me skull,
An' grew all grizzle gray!
O never more, to Dublin town,
I'll come, to sell me pigs!
I walk a melancholy man,