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Heav'n bless thee, little flower! I prize thee more Than all the pride of female stateliness.

Dost thou? then I am happy: I am proud: I will not wish me other than I am.

Ah, if we part not instantly, my Ella, I feel in faith, rude as my nature is, I soon shall be like thee!—My friends approach: Let us not meet their gaze—It must be so— Sweet one, farewel!—Wilt thou still cling to me?

O no, I go: they shall not see thee weep, Tho' I do bless thee for it.

Well then, brave lass, upon thy lovely head Heaven's favour rest!—Nay, do not speak to me. What dost thou want?(Turning angrily.)