From James N. Healey, The Second Book of Irish Ballads (1962):

                     The Irish Rover

In the year of our Lord, eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the fair Cobh of Cork.
We were bound far away with a cargo of bricks
For the fair city hall of New York.
We’d a beautiful craft, she was rigged fore and aft
And Lord, how the trade winds drove her,
As she stood to the blast she had twenty-three masts,
And we called her the Irish Rover.

Donoghue and MacHugh came from red Waterloo,
And O’Neill and MacFlail from the Rhine,
There was Ludd and MacGludd from the land of the flood,
Pat Malone, Mike MacGowan, and O’Brien,
Bould McGee, MacEntee and big Neill from Tigree
And Michael O’Dowd from Dover,
And a man from Turkestan sure his name was Kid McCann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover.

We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags,
We had two million barrels of bones.
We had three million sides from old blind horses hides,
We had four million bags full of stones,
We had five million dogs, we had six million hogs,
And seven million bundles of clover.
We had eight million bales of old bill goat’s tails,
In the hold of the Irish Rover.

Oh! We sailed seven years and the measles broke out,
And the ship lost her way in a fog.
And the whole of the crew was reduced unto two,
Just meself and the skippers old dog.
And we struck on a rock with a terrible shock
And, Lord, she rolled right over,
Turned nine times right around; the old dog he got drowned--
I'm the last of the Irish Rover.

Final Chorus:

Fare thee well my own true one, I’m going far from you,
And I will swear by the stars above, forever I’ll be true;
But as I part it will break my heart, and when the trip is over,
I’ll roam again in true Irish style aboard the Irish Rover.