Though it may be unwise I feel I must insist
Because this little nuisance troubles me still
It’s the curse a man feels when infatuated he is
Oh I wish that this curse of slow time, it would cease

How many times must I say, must I tell?
That your pretty face off my mind I can’t get
And that one of the few things that I now most yearn
Is your favor to earn and some time with you spend

All I just said to you, does it to you seem fair?
All I want to know is, have you a minute to spare?

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