My lovely Mary of the Tyne.
I lose, when near thee, all my care,
When from thee, I am all despair;
My bosom heaves with anxious pain,
Until I meet with thee again,
What are these adverse pangs of mine,
My lovely Mary of the Tyne?
Say, is it from thy beauteous face,
Or is it from thy nat’ral grace,
Or is it thy angelic mind,