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!