Oh! ’tis love, ’tis love, ’tis love,
That makes the world go round;
Ev’ry day, beneath his sway,
Fools, old and young, abound;
Love often turns young ladies’ brains,
At which mamma will scold,
So, in revenge, Love thinks it fair
To shoot sometimes the old;
With love some folks go mad,
’Tis love makes some quite thin,