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What's to you, if I allow
Youths of love to chatter;
Let them rattle at my door,
Surely 'tis no matter!
I will marry—wherefore talk—
Wherefore talk, my mother;
Am I yet a year too young?
Must I wait another?
No! I'm young—and I am fair—
Gay—blue-eyed and airy—
Would you know the maiden's name,
Sir! her name is Mary!Co ten ptáček štěbetá.
What means that cheating, chattering bird
Upon the oaken tree?
"The maid a lover hath," I heard,
"And yet so pale is she"
