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 Mistress Malone,
'Twas known,
That no one 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,