More than the mulberries on the hill
 More than the buds of a May apple tree, I love thee

 Arms have I, strong as the oak, for this occasion
 Lips have I, to kiss thee, too, in friendly persuasion

 Thee is mine, though I don't know many words of praise
 Thee pleasures me in a hundred ways
 Put on your bonnet, your cape, and your glove
 And come with me, for thee I love

 Friendly persuasion

 Thee is mine, though I don't know many words of praise
 Thee pleasures me in a hundred ways
 Put on your bonnet, your cape, and your glove
 And come with me, for thee I love