Thee I love, more than the meadow so green and still
More than the mulberries on the hill
More than the buds on the May apple tree, I love thee

Arms have I, strong as the oak, for this occasion
Lips have I, to kiss thee, too, in friendly persuasion

Thee is mine, though I don't know many words of praise
Thee pleasures me in a hundred ways
So put on your bonnet and
your cape and your glove
And come with me, for thee I love

Thee is mine, though I don't know many words of praise
Thee pleasures me in a hundred ways
So put on your bonnet and your cape and your glove
And come with me, for thee I love
And come with me, for thee I
love
Oh, come with me, for thee I
love.