Eva Toole

Who's not heard of Eva Toole,

Munster's purest, proudest jewel,

Queen of Limerick's lovely maidens,

Kerry's charming girls?

As her gliding course she takes

Like a swan across the lakes,

With her voice of silver cadence,

And her smile of pearls!

Oh! the eyes of Eva Toole!

Now why would not Cromwell cruel,

Just have called two centuries later

Here on Carrig height?

For one angry azure flash

From beneath her ebon lash! _

And away old Noll should scatter

Out of Eva's sight.

Is't describe you, Eva Toole?

As she danced last night at Shrule,

Her two feet like swallows skimmin'

Up and down the floor;

Or the curtsey that she dropped

Ev'ry time the music stopped,

Not the oldest men or women

Saw such grace before.

Yet altho' you bore the rule

O'er us all then, Eva Toole,

Ne'er a one but I was in it

Of your sweethearts fine.

And my heart's in such a riot,

That to keep the crayture quiet

I am running round this minute

Just to make you mine!