There was a Captain bold At Sunderland, 'tis told, And be was a gallant gay Lothario; So Irish was his air, No one but did declare, That he was the very Paddy Carey, O.
His ankle it was small, His stature it was tall As a camel, leopard, or dromedary, O; And straight was his back, And his whiskers were black, Och! no one could mistake Paddy Carey, O.
His jacket it was laced, A sash about his waist,— By his side hung his Androferary, O; With his spurs of polish'd steel That jingled at his heel, There was none could compare with Paddy Carey, O.
He loved a maiden tall, Whom some called " Pretty Poll," Though her god-fathers only called her Mary, O, Her shape and janty air, Soft eyes and sunny hair, Play'd havock with the heart of Paddy Carey, O.
Though lovers would annoy, This damsel still was coy, And always to their suit was contrary, O; And little did she dream, When to Sunderland she came, That ever she should sigh for Paddy Carey, O.
On Sunderland Parade He saw her first, 'tis said, And straight the gallant Captain so wary, O, Said " Ladies, I request The tune that you love best." She sigh'd, as she whisper'd "Paddy Carey, O."
Then straight unto the band , The Captain waved his hand, Having bow'd to his charmer so airy, O, And, determined to engage her, He order'd the drum-major To play up the planxty Paddy Carey, O.
While the tune it was lilting, Sweet Polly's eyes so melting Bewitch'd him, like an angel or a fairy, O; And, when the tune was play'd, He whisper'd her, and said, "Have pity on your own Paddy Carey, O.
"I am a soldier tall, An Irishman and all,— I came all the way from Tipperary, O; And, though I'm something frisky, I'll love you more than whisky, If you can love again your Paddy Carey, O.
"I fought at Waterloo, Where Boney got his due, And ran away from Pat in a quandary, O; I've pocket-fulls of plunder, So, joy, you cannot blunder In striking up a match with Paddy Carey, O."
Her voice it was hush'd,— Like the morning she blush'd, And red unto white did she vary, O; And though she hated violence, She pocketed in silence A squeeze and a salute from Paddy Carey, O.
Now, good luck to the tune That melts the girls so soon, And puts them into such a sisserary, O; Let us stick to the plan Of being happy when we can, So, piper, rattle up witli Paddy Carey, O.