Young Molly who lived at the foot of the hill,
Whose fame every virgin with envy doth fill,
Of beauty is blessed with and so ample a share
They call her the lass with the delicate air.
With the delicate air,
Men call her the lass with the delicate air.

One evening last May as I traversed the grove
In thoughtless retirement, not dreaming of love.
I chanced to espy the gay nymph, I declare
She really did have a most delicate air,
A most delicate air,
She really did have a most delicate air.

By a murmuring brook on a green mossy bed
A chaplet composing, the fair one was laid.
Surprised and transported I could not forbear
With rapture to gaze on her delicate air,
On her delicate air,
With rapture to gaze on her delicate air.

A thousand times o'er I repeated my suit
But still the tormentor affects to be mute.
Then tell me ye swains who have conquered the fair
How to win the dear lass with the delicate air,
With the delicate air,
How to win the dear lass with the delicate air.