Oh, my Cathleen, Cathy, my dear Cathleen!
Every trait of yours does please my eyes!
You remind a silver fir on Christmas,
When well-dressed you’re going up in price.

I will clothe you in chiffon and linen,
To the bits and pieces, save my soul!
You will look far better than my Nina,
Whose dear life I took a year ago.

Oh, my Cathleen, there’s no need to worry
Soon you’ll see what fortunes life can bring!
That’s not all! We soon will be in clover,
I don’t cut my women every spring.

My dear Cathleen, you are too uncertain,
I will rip the shirt across my chest!
Let it be! We’re riding to the suburbs,
And the wake will wait for us ahead.