While I hang on your bosom, distracted to lose you,
⁠High swells my sad heart, and fast my tears flow,
Yet think not of coldness they fall to accuse you,
⁠Did I ever upbraid you? Oh, no my love, no!
I own it would please me at home could you tarry,
⁠Nor e'er feel a wish from Maria to go;
But if it gives pleasure to you my dear Harry,
⁠Shall I blame your departure? Oh, no my love no.

Now do not, dear Hal, while abroad you are straying,
​⁠That heart which is mine on a rival bestow,
Nay, banish that frown such displeasure betraying;
⁠Do you think I suspect you? Oh, no my love no.
I believe you too kind for one moment to grieve me;
⁠Or plant in a bosom which adores you such woe;
Yet should you dishonour my truth, and deceive me,
⁠Should I e'er cease to love you? Oh no, my love no.