But I envy them none of their riches,
So I may win sweet Molly Mog.
The heart, when half wounded, is changing,
It here and there leaps like a frog:
But my heart can never be ranging,
'Tis so fix'd upon sweet Molly Mog.
Who follows all ladies of pleasure,
In pleasure is thought but a hog:
All the sex cannot give so good measure
Of joys, as my sweet Molly Mog.
I feel I'm in love to distraction,
My senses all lost in a fog;
And nothing can give satisfaction
But thinking of sweet Molly Mog.
A letter when I am inditing,
Comes Cupid, and gives me a jog;
And I fill all the paper with writing
Of nothing but sweet Molly Mog.
If I would not give up the three Graces,
I wish I were hang'd like a dog,
And at court all the drawingroom faces,
For a glance of my sweet Molly Mog,
Those faces want nature and spirit,
And seem as cut out of a log:
Juno, Venus, and Pallas's merit
Unite in my sweet Molly Mog.
Those who toast all the family royal
In bumpers of hogan and nog,
Have hearts not more true or more loyal
Than mine to my sweet Molly Mog.
