O Mollie, I would I possessed such a heart;
It enchants me — so gentle and true;
I would I possessed all its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I would enchant you.
Those dear, rosy lips — tho’ I never caressed them (? ) —
Are as sweet as the wild honey-dew;
Your cheeks — all the angels in Heaven have blessed them,
But not one is as lovely as you.
Then give me that heart,— O that innocent heart!
For mine own is cold and perdu;
It enchants me, but give me its magical art,
Then, Mollie, I will enchant you.