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 That stole that heart of thine Mary;

True love I'm sure was ne'er his end,

Or use such love as thine Mary.

I spoke sincere nor flatter'd much

Had no unworthy thoughts Mary

Ambition, wealth, nor naething such,

No I lov'd only thee Mary.

Tho‘ you've been false, yet while I live,

No other maid I'll woo Mary;

Till friends forget and I forgive,

Thy wrongs to them and me Mary.

So then farewell, of this be sure,

Since you've been false to me Mary;

For all the world I'd not endure,

Half what I've done for thee Mary.





On Richmond hill there's a lass,

More bright than May-day morn;

Whose charms all other maids surpass.

A rose without a thorn.

This lass so neat with smile so sweet,

Has won my right good will;

I‘d crowns resign to call thee mine,

Sweet lass of Richmond hill.