On Richmond Hill there lives a lass
——More bright than May-day morn,
Whose charms all other maids surpass,—
——A rose without a thorn.

This lass sOneat, with smiles so sweet,
——Has won my right good-will;
I'd crowns resign to call her mine,
——Sweet lass of Richmond Hill.

Ye zephyrs gay, that fan the air,
——And wanton through the grove,
O, whisper to my charming fair,
——I die for her I love.

How happy will the shepherd be
——Who calls this nymph his own!
O, may her choice be fixed on me!
——Mine's fixed on her alone.