| Thee I love, more than the meadow so green and still
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| More than the mulberries on the hill
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| More than the buds on a May apple tree, I love thee
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| Arms have I, strong as the oak, for this occasion
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| Lips have I, to kiss thee, too, in friendly persuasion
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| Thee is mine, though I don’t know many words of praise
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| Thee pleasures me in a hundred ways
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| So put on your bonnet, your cape, and your glove
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| And come with me, for thee I love
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| Arms have I, strong as the oak, for this occasion
|
| Lips have I, to kiss thee, too, in friendly persuasion
|
| Thee is mine, though I don’t know many words of praise
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| Thee pleasures me in a hundred ways
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| So put on your bonnet, your cape, and your glove
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| And come with me, for thee I love
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| For thee I love |