As I went down through Dublin city
at the hour of 12 of night
Who should I see but a Spanish lady
washing her feet by candle-light
First she washed them, then she dried them,
over a fire of angry coals
In all me life I ne'er did see
a maid so sweet about the sole.
Whack fol the toor-al-loor-al-laddy
Whack fol the toor-al-loor-al-lay
Whack fol the toor-al-loor-al-laddy
Whack fol the toor-al-loor-al-lay
I stopped to look but the watchman passing,
say's he young fella now the night is late
On with ye home or I will wrestle you
straightway through the Bridewell gate
I threw a kiss to the Spanish lady,
hot as a fire of angry coals
In all me life I ne'er did see
a maid so sweet about the sole
I wandered back through Dublin city
at the hour of half-past eight
Who should I spy but the Spanish lady
brushing her hair in the broad daylight
First she tossed it, then she brushed it,
on her lap was a silver comb
In all me life I ne'er did see
a maid so sweet since I did roam
I've wandered north and I've wandered south
through Stoney Batter and Patrick's Close
Up and around by the Gloucester Diamond
and back by Napper Tandy's House
Old age has laid her arm on me,
cold as a fire of ashy coals
Ah but, where is the lovely Spanish lady
neat and sweet about the sole
