How can my mother chide my love

How can my mother chide my love? How can she frown and scold me? How can she say he'll faithless prove? As she has often told me. Ah! did she know his winning wiles, And could she taste such blisses; And heard his oaths, and saw his smiles, And felt his precious kisses. She would not surely chide my love, She would not frown and scold me; She would not say he'll faithless prove, As she has often told me.

His lips are like the sugar pea, His breath is sweet as honey; His words are dearer far to me, Than waggon loads of money. Then do not, mother, chide my love, Then do not frown and scold me; Then do not say he'll faithless prove, As you have often told me.