  DID ye hear of the Widow Malone, Ohone! Who lived in the town of Athlone, Alone? Oh, she melted the hearts Of the swains in them parts, So lovely the Widow Malone, Ohone! So lovely the Widow Malone. Of lovers she had a full score, Or more; And fortunes they all had galore, In store; From the minister down To the Clerk of the Crown, All were courting the Widow Malone, Ohone! All were courting the Widow Malone. But so modest was Mrs. Malone, ’Twas known No one ever could see her alone, Ohone! Let them ogle and sigh, They could ne’er catch her eye, So bashful the Widow Malone, Ohone! So bashful the Widow Malone. Till one Mister O’Brien from Clare— How quare. It’s little for blushing they care Down there— Put his arm round her waist, Gave ten kisses at laste— “Oh,” says he, “you’re my Molly Malone, My own!” “Oh,” says he, “you’re my Molly Malone!” And the widow they all thought so shy, My eye! Ne’er thought of a simper or sigh— For why? “But, Lucius,” says she, “Since you’ve now made so free, You may marry your Molly Malone, Ohone! You may marry your Molly Malone.” There’s a moral contained in my song, Not wrong; And, one comfort, it’s not very long, But strong: If for widows you die, Learn to kiss, not to sigh, For they’re all like sweet Mistress Malone, Ohone! Oh! they’re very like Mistress Malone! Charles Lever. |
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