Widow Malone, The

Did you hear of the Widow Malone O hone! Who lived in the town of Athlone alone; O, she melted the hearts Of the swains in them parts; So lovely the Widow Malone, O hone! 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 O hone! All were courting the Widow Malone But so modest was Mrs. Malone, 'Twas known, That no one could see her alone, O hone! Let them ogle and sigh, They could ne'er catch her eye; So bashful the Widow Malone, O hone! So bashful the Widow Malone, Till one Mister O'Brien from Clare, How quare! 'Tis little for blushing they care Down there; Put his arm round her waist, Gave ten kisses at laste, And says he, "You're my Molly Malone, my own; Says he, "You're my Molly Malone." And the widow they all thought so shy— My eye! Never thought of a simper or sigh; For why? "O Lucius," said she, "Since you've now made so free, You may marry your Mary Malone, Your own; You may marry your Mary 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! O hone! O they're all like sweet Mistress Malone!