no, no, the bees humming round the gay roses

proim it the pride of the year.

fain would i hide what i fear to discover,

yet long, long, too well have i known;

all that has caused this wreck in my bosom,

is jenny, fair jenny alone.

time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal,

nor hope dare a fort bestow:

e then, enamour'd and fond of my anguish,

enjoyment i'll seek in my woe.