Jack O'Rion was the finest fiddler ever fiddled on the string
He could drive young ladies wild with a tune his wires would sing
He could fiddle the fish out of salt water, water from a marble stone
Or milk from out a maiden's breast though baby she had none
There he played in the castle hall and there he played them fast asleep
Except it was for the young countess who, for love, she stayed awake
So first he played her a slow air and then he played it brisk and gay
And oh, dear love, behind her glove, this lady she did say |