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Mary Ann (i)

This version is from American music hall, circa 1850.
See also Turtle Dove from England, and
a (slightly) straighter version of Mary Ann (ii) from America.

    Fare you well my own Mary Ann,
    Fare you well my dear,
    For the ship is waiting and the wind blows high,
    And I am bound away to the sea, Mary Ann.

    The pride of all the produce rare,
    That in our garden grew,
    Was pumpkins, but none could compare,
    In angel form, with you, my dear, Mary Ann.

    A lobster boiling in the pot,
    A bluefish on the hook,
    They're suffering long, but it's nothing like
    The ache I bear for you, my dear, Mary Ann.

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