THE MAN THAT GOT THE CALL

O it’s not for fame and glory And the guns of Trafalgar, Nor to walk with foreign lady In a cypress garden shady, Nor to court to get a star, That he’s going, Captain Spanish; Captain Spanish leaves you all! O he’s careless, careless, careless, He’s the man that got the call! O it wasn’t in the morning, And it wasn’t by the stream Where the birches’ lovely daughters Dip their tresses in the waters, For they summoned in a dream. Weep your gallant, Dublin ladies, Captain Spanish leaves you all! O he’s careless, careless, careless, He’s the man that got the call!

Pretty Lady Kitty Cooley, Nor your taffeta, nor lace, Nor your gold can bring him nearer; You can look into your mirror, He has seen another face, A White Woman with the Green Blood! Captain Spanish leaves you all, O he’s careless, careless, careless, He’s the man that got the call! Father Hogan of the hunters Better stay the county sport! Go and tell his mother weeping, That she set his hounds to leaping Round the ancient Fairy fort. Where the sunset turned it emerald Near a bit of rosy wall, Captain Spanish left the ladies ... He’s the man that got the call.