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Rh You ſaid you lov’d me, Molly dear,

ah! why did I believe!

Yet, who could think ſuch tender words

were meant but to deceive?

That love was all I aſk’d on earth,

this world could give no more:

Ah! gramachree, &c.

Oh! had I all the flocks that graze

on yonder yellow hill;

Or ’low’d for me the num’rous herds

that yen green paſtures fill,

With her I love I’d gladly ſhare

my kine and fleecy ſhore.

Ah! gramachree, &c.

Two turtle doves, above my head,

ſat courting on a bough;

I envy’d them their happineſs

to ſee them bill and coo;

Such fondneſs once for me ſhe ſhew’d,

but now, alas! ’tis o’er.

Ah! gramachree, &c.

Y gentle winds, that ſoftly blow

along the verdant plain,

Go whiſper to my Strephon’s ear

his love’s return’d again: