THINE am I, my faithful Fair,
Thine, my lovely Nancy;
Evry pulse along my veins,
Evry roving fancy.
To thy bosom lay my heart,
There to throb and languish;
Tho despair had wrung its core,
That would heal its anguish.
Take away those rosy lips,
Rich with balmy treasure;
Turn away thine eyes of love,
Lest I die with pleasure!
What is life when wanting Love?
Night without a morning:
Loves the cloudless summer sun,
Nature gay adorning.
