| In Banbridge Town near the County Down
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| One morning last July,
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| Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen,
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| And she smiled as she passed me by.
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| She looked so sweet, from her two bare feet
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| To the sheen of her nut-brown hair.
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| Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself
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| For to see I was really there.
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| From Bantry Bay down to Derry Quay,
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| And from Galway to Dublin Town,
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| No maid I’ve seen like the brown colleen
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| That I met in the County Down.
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| As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head,
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| And I looked with a feeling rare.
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| And I says, says I, to a passer-by,
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| «Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?»
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| He smiled at me, and he said, said he,
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| «She's the gem of Ireland’s crown,
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| Young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann,
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| She’s the Star of the County Down.»
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| From Bantry Bay down to Derry Quay,
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| And from Galway to Dublin Town,
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| No maid I’ve seen like the brown colleen
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| That I met in the County Down.
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| I’ve travelled a bit but was never smit
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| Since my roving career began.
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| But fair and square, I surrendered there
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| To the charms of Rose McCann.
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| I’d a heart to let, and no tenant yet
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| Had I met in a shawl or gown.
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| But in she went, and I asked no rent
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| From the Star of the County Down.
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| From Bantry Bay down to Derry Quay,
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| And from Galway to Dublin Town,
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| No maid I’ve seen like the brown colleen
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| That I met in the County Down.
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| At the harvest fair, she’ll be surely there,
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| And I’ll dress in me Sunday clothes,
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| With my shoes shone bright and my hat cocked right
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| For a smile from me nut-brown rose.
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| No pipe I’ll smoke, no horse I’ll yoke,
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| 'Til my plough is a rust-coloured brown,
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| 'Til a smiling bride by my own fireside
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| Sits the Star of the County Down.
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| From Bantry Bay down to Derry Quay,
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| And from Galway to Dublin Town,
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| No maid I’ve seen like the brown colleen
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| That I met in the County Down.
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| No maid I’ve seen like the brown colleen
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| That I met in the County Down. |