Cream of Tannahill's Songs (3)/Molly my dear

by Robert Tannahill

For other versions of this work, see Molly, My Dear.

MOLLY, MY DEAR.

The harvest is o'er, and the lads are so funny,
Their hearts lined with love and their pockets with money;
From morning till night, 'tis "My jewel, my honey,
"Och, go to the North with me, Molly, my dear!"

Young Dermot holds on with his sweet botheration,
And swears their is only one flower in the nation,
"Thou rose of the Shannon, thou pink of creation,
"Och, go to the North with me, Molly, my dear!"

"The sun courts thy smiles as he sinks in the ocean,
The moon to thy charms veils her face in devotion,
And I my poor self, och! so rich is my notion,
Would pay down the world for sweet Molly, my dear."

"Though Thady can match all the lads with his blarney,
And sing me love songs of the Lakes of Killarney,
In worth from my Dermot he's twenty miles journey,
My heart bids me tell him I'll ne'er be his dear."

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