The Lass with the Delicate Air
Michael Arne - 1762

Young Molly who lived at the foot of the hill,
Whose fame every virgin with envy doth fill,
Of beauty is blessed with so ample a share,
Men call her the lass with the delicate air.
With the delicate air,
Men call her the lass with the delicate air.

One evening last May as I traversed the grove
In thoughtless retirement, not dreaming of love.
I chanced to espy the gay nymph, I declare,
And really she had a most delicate air.

By a murmuring brook on a green mossy bed
A chaplet composing, the fair one was laid.
Surprised and transported, I could not forbear
With rapture to gaze on her delicate air.

A thousand times o'er I've repeated my suit;
But still the tormentor affects to be mute.
Then tell me, ye swains who have conquered the fair
How to win the dear lass with the delicate air.