Songs, Song VIII

That Jenny's my friend, my delight, and my pride, I always have boasted, and seek not to hide; I dwell on her praises wherever I go: They say I 'm in love, but I answer No, no.

At ev'ning oft'times with what pleasure I see A note from her hand, "I 'll be with you at tea!" My heart how it bounds when I hear her below! But say not 't is love, for I answer No, no.

She sings me a song and I echo each strain, Again I cry Jenny, sweet Jenny! again I kiss her soft lips as if there I could grow, And fear I 'm in love tho' I answer No, no.

She tells me her faults as she sits on my knee; I chide her, and swear she 's an angel to me: My shoulder she taps, and still bids me think so. Who knows but she loves tho' she tells me No, no?

Yet such is my temper, so dull am I grown, I ask not her heart but would conquer my own: Her bosom's soft peace shall I seek to o'erthrow, And wish to persuade while I answer No, no?

From beauty, and wit, and good humour, ah! why Should Prudence advise and compel me to fly? Thy bounties O Fortune! make haste to bestow, And let me deserve her or still I say No.