Molly, my love,

Ireland’s fairest cailín, you are,

The Queen of my heart, and I,

The Queen of yours.

Mama will never understand it,

Papa will never accept it, but,

Sappho would be proud.

The Doves,

The Isle’s whitest wings, sing of our peace,

The Lords bells, announce our union.

Molly, dearest, let us run to the countryside,

Papa won’t find us there.

Molly, oh, my darling, you are my home;

Satan himself can’t pry me from your arms.

Lord, how I love you, and how you love me too.