  From the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested A sprig her fair breast to adorn, From the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested, A sprig her fair breast to adorn. No! By heav'n! I exclaimed, may I perish, If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn! When I show'd her a ring, and implor'd her to marry, She blushed like the dawning of morn, When I show'd her a ring, and implor'd her to marry, She blushed like the dawning of morn. Yes! I'll consent, she replied, if you promise, That no jealous rival shall laugh me to scorn. |
|
