When I was ill in the long ago
That lately seems so nigh,
They placed a mirror before me so
I could see the passersby;
Market women and trading men,
Children and ballad singers,
Farmers coming to town and then
The noisy auction ringers

With their " Hark, ye! Hark, ye!
At twelve o' the clock in Ballinaree —
Twenty acres of turbary land
To be sold at the fall of the hand. "

Again I'm buried deep in bed,
But in this looking glass
I see the folk who passed instead
Of those who now may pass;

Market women and trading men,
Children and auction ringers,
Farmers coming to town and then
The welcome ballad singers

With their " Hark, ye! Hark, ye!
The Blushing Rose of Ballinaree —
Twenty verses of a ballad made
For the best of the Dublin trade. "

Maybe a moon in another sky
Shall be as a mirror so
It might reflect the world which I
Would still desire to know;
Market women and trading men,
Children and ballad singers,
Farmers coming to town and then
The rambling notice ringers

With their " Hark, ye! Hark, ye!
At twelve o' the clock in Ballinaree —
A ploughing match with a guinea's prize
For the skill of your hands and eyes. "