  [Intended to have been sung in the comedy of “She Stoops to Conquer.” Adapted to the Irish air, “The Humours of Ballamaguiry.”] Ah, me! when shall I marry me? Lovers are plenty, but fail to relieve me; He, fond youth, that could carry me, Offers to love, but means to deceive me. But I will rally, and combat the ruiner: Not a look, not a smile, shall my passion discover; She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent—loses a lover. |
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