The Lass With the Delicate Air
Young Molly who lived at the foot of the hill,
Whose fame every virgin with envy doth kill,
Of beauty is blessed with so ample a share
Men call her the Lass with the Delicate Air.
With the delicate air, men call her the Lass with the Delicate Air.
By a murmuring brook in a green mossy glade,
A chaplet composing, the fair one was laid.
Surprised and transported, I could not forebear
With rapture to gaze on her delicate air.
On her delicate air, with rapture to gaze on her delicate air.
A thousand times o'er I've repeated my suit,
And still the tormentor affects to be mute.
So tell me, ye swains who have conquered the fair,
How to win the dear lass with the delicate air.
With the delicate air, how to win the fair lass with the delicate air.
Composed by Michael Arne, 1762. Sung by Julie Andrews, 1957.