O might I but my Patrick love!
 My mother scolds severely,
 And tells me I shall wretched prove,
 Because I love him dearly!
 In vain she rates me o'er and o'er
 With lessons cold and endless;
 It only makes me love him more,
 To find him poor and friendless.

Refrain:
 Oh! Patrick, fly from me,
 Or I am lost for ever -
 Oh! Fortune kinder be,
 Nor thus two Lovers sever.

 What bliss, to me my Patrick cries, 
 In splendour and in riches?
 He says, we love too little prize,
 That gold too much bewitches!
 More blest the lark, tho' hard its doom
 Whene'er the winter rages,
 Than birds, he says, of finer plume,
 That mope in gilded cages.

(Refrain)

 He tells me when the bosom's warm,
 We mock the storm that's blowing,
 That honest hearts can take no harm
 Tho' hard the world be going.
 He says - ah me! I'm sore afraid
 Lest I from duty falter;
 I wish he could as soon persuade
 The mother as the daughter.

(Refrain)