When I play on my fiddle in Dooney. Folk
dance like a wave of the sea; My
cousin is priest in Kilvarnet, My
brother in Mocharabuiee. I
passed my brother and cousin: They
read in their books of prayer; I
read in my book of songs I
bought at the Sligo fair. When
we come at the end of time To
Peter sitting in state, He
will smile on the three old spirits, But
call me first through the gate; For
the good are always the merry, Save
by an evil chance, And
the merry love the fiddle, And
the merry love to dance: And
when the folk there spy me, They
will all come up to me, With
“Here is the fiddler of Dooney!” And dance like a wave of the sea. |
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