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Thee I love, more than the meadow so green and still |
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More than the mulberries on the hill |
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More than the buds of a May apple tree, I love thee |
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Arms have I, strong as the oak, for this occasion |
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Lips have I, to kiss thee, too, in friendly persuasion |
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Thee is mine, though I don't know many words of praise |
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Thee pleasures me in a hundred ways |
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Put on your bonnet, your cape, and your glove |
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And come with me, for thee I love |
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Friendly persuasion |
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Thee is mine, though I don't know many words of praise |
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Thee pleasures me in a hundred ways |
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Put on your bonnet, your cape, and your glove |
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And come with me, for thee I love |
