Molly, My Dear

Robert Tannahill

The harvest is o'er, and the lads are so funny, Their hearts lin'd with love, and their pockets with money; From morning to night 'tis, My jewel, my honey, Och, go to the North with me, Molly, my dear! 2. Young Dermot holds on with his sweet botheration, And swears there is only one flow'r in the nation; Thou rose of the Shannon, thou pink of creation, Och, go to the North with me, Molly, me dear! 3. The sun courts thy smiles as he sinks in the ocean, The moon to thy charms veils her face in devotion; And I, my poor self, och! so rich is my notion, Would pay down the world for sweet Molly, my dear. 4. Though Thady can match all the lads with his blarney, And sings me love songs of the Lakes of Killarney, In worth for my Dermot he's twenty miles journey, My heart bids me tell him I'll ne'er be his dear.