At the Harvest Fair, she'll be surely there

So I'll dress in me Sunday clothes

With me shoes shone bright and me hat cocked right

For a smile from the nut brown rose

No pipe I′ll smoke, no horse I′ll yoke

'Til me plough is a rust-colored brown

And a smiling bride by me own fireside

Sits the star of the County Down

From Bantry Bay up to Derry′s Quay

From Galway to Dublin Town

No maid I've seen like the fair cailín

That I met in the County Down