5
But he will never try again
The plains of Waterloo, man.
The Thorn.
From the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested,
A sprig her fair breast to adorn.
From the white blossom'd sloe my dear Chloe requested,
A sprig her fair breast to adorn.
So by heav'ns I exclaim'd may I perish,
If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn.
So by heav'ns I exclaim'd may I perishih,
If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn.
When I shew'd her a ring and implor'd her to marry,
She blush'd like the dawning of morn.
When I shew'd her a ring and implor'd her to marry,
She blush'd like the dawning of morn.
Yes I'll consent, she reply'd, if you'll promrise,
That no jealous rival shall daugh me to scorn.
So by heav'ns I exclaim'd may I perish,
If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn.
