WHILE many a fond and blooming maid
Attempts thy heart to gain;
And, by thy fatal smile betrayed,
Thinks not she strives in vain:
 
While in those eyes of tender blue
They answering passion see,
And in thy sweet expression view
The charm that conquered me:....
 
I still should scorn their winning art,
And be, my Henry, blest,
If thou wouldst give that precious heart
To her who loves thee best.

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