Early this morning I left for the fair in Boyle.
I met a fine lady who threw me a friendly smile.
I sat down beside her to chat for a little while,
And I spent all my money there drinking with Joan Maguire.
O, Joan Maguire, you’ve ruined my life, you bitch.
You captured my heart, yet yielded me ne’er a kiss.
When I was spendin’ your attention was warm and rich;
When my pocket was empty, I found I was promptly ditched.
Now here I am in this town of Boyle forlorn,
Feeling so foolish, I wish that I ne’er was born.
Can’t do my duty: my money is spent and gone.
When I try to stand up, I’m so drunk that again I fall.
My curse on this town with its women so wild and free.
My curse on the townies who trick country boys like me.
My curse on my parents for rearing such a blithering fool,
And my twenty five curses upon my misguided tool.
O, Joan Maguire, I dream of you day and night,
Your friendly smile, your eyes sparkling with delight.
Though you’re a rogue, I long for your soft caress,
My arms to enfold you and hold you close to my breast.