Oh Mary, come to your little window!
The hour of sweet bliss beckons;
Let me be delighted by the radiance of your glances,
Which shines more brightly than gold and crowns!
How gladly I would bear it if fate made me
A slave in the dust, in duress and scorn:
If I were rewarded with a sweet glance
From the beautiful Mary Morison!

Last night, at the sounds of the strings,
By rejoicing dance and candlelight,
In the oppression of my heart
I thought of you, and saw and heard nothing.
Truly many a pretty maiden swayed
In the dance to the tune of the pipes;
But I said: You are all
Not a Mary Morison!

And to hate him -- oh think about it! --
Him, who would give his life for you?
To slight him, who has done no wrong,
But that he loved you and continues to love? --
And if he is not permitted to dedicate love to you,
May hate not be the reward for his faithfulness:
To be capable of ignoble thinking
Is not possible for Mary Morison!