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17 My constant, heart ne'er shall stray,

Thou mayst believe me;

I’ll love thee, lad, night and day,

And never leave thee.

Adonis, my charming youth,

What can relieve thee?

Can Mary thy anguish sooth?

This breast shall receive thee.

My passion shall ne'er decay,

Never deceive thee;

Delight shall drive pain away,

Pleasure revive thee.

But leave thee, leave thee, lad,

How shall I leave thee?

O, that thought makes me sad!

I’ll never leave thee,

Where would my Adonis fly?

Why does he grieve me?

Alas! my poor heart will die,

If I should leave thee!

Tell me, Mary.

O, tell me, tell me, Mary dear,

Whence is that pensive sigh?

Oh, tell me whence the pearly tear

That trembles in thine eye?

I cannot, dare not hope for love;

Yet on that cheek I see

What would the softest wishes move,

If they were shed for me.