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That Jenny's my friend, my delight, and my pride,
l always have boasted, and seek not to hide;
I dwell on her praises wherever I go:
They say I'm in love, but I answer no, no.

At evening, oft-times, with what pleasure I see
A note from her hand, ‘I'll be with you at tea!’
My heart how it bounds when I hear her below!
But say not 'tis love, for I answer no, no.

She sings me a song, and I echo each strain,
Again I cry Jenny, sweet Jenny! again;
I kiss her soft lips, as if there I could grow,
And fear I'm in love, though I answer no, no.

She tells me her faults, as she sits on my knee;
I chide her, and swear she's an angel to me:
My shoulder she taps, and still bids me think so.
Who knows but she loves, though she tells me no, no.

Yet such is my temper, so dull am I grown,
I ask not her heart, but would conquer my own:
Her bosom's soft peace shall I seek to o'erthrow,
And wish to persuade, while I answer no, no?

From beauty, and wit, and good humour, ah! why
Should Prudence advise, and compel me to fly?
Thy bounties, O fortune! make haste to bestow,
And let me deserve her, or still I say no.
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