The Irish Spinning-Wheel

                SHOW me a sight,                 Bates for delight An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it.                 Oh no!                 Nothing you ’ll show Aquals her sittin’ an’ takin’ a whirl at it.                 Look at her there—                 Night in her hair, The blue ray of day from her eye laughin’ out on us!                 Faix, an’ a foot,                 Perfect of cut, Peepin’ to put an end to all doubt in us.                 That there ’s a sight                 Bates for delight An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it—                 Oh no!                 Nothin’ you ’ll show Aquals her sittin’ an’ takin’ a twirl at it.                 See! the lamb’s wool                 Turns coarse an’ dull By them soft, beautiful weeshy white hands of her.                 Down goes her heel,                 Roun’ runs the wheel, Purrin’ wid pleasure to take the commands of her.                 Then show me a sight                 Bates for delight An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at it.                 Oh no!                 Nothin’ you ’ll show Aquals her sittin’ an’ takin’ a twirl at it.                 Talk of Three Fates,                 Seated on sates, Spinnin’ and shearin’ away till they ’ve done for me!                 You may want three                 For your massacree, But one Fate for me, boys—and only the one for me!                 And isn’t that fate                 Pictured complate— An ould Irish wheel with a young Irish girl at it?                 Oh no!                 Nothin’ you ’ll show Aquals her sittin’ and takin’ a twirl at it.