Verse > Anthologies > The World’s Best Poetry > Vol. II. Love
Bliss Carman, et al., eds.  The World’s Best Poetry.
Volume II. Love.  1904.
IV. Wooing and Winning
I’m not Myself at all
Samuel Lover (1797–1868)
OH, I ’m not myself at all,
    Molly dear, Molly dear!
I ’m not myself at all.
  Nothing caring, nothing knowing,
  ’T is after you I ’m going,        5
  Faith, your shadow ’t is I ’m growing,
    Molly dear, Molly dear!
And I ’m not myself at all.
  Th’ other day I went confessin’,
  And I asked the father’s blessin’,        10
“But,” says I, “don’t give me one intirely:
    For I fretted so last year,
      But the half of me is here,
So give the other half to Molly Brierly.”
    Oh, I ’m not myself at all!        15
  Oh, I ’m not myself at all,
      Molly dear, Molly dear!
  My appetite ’s so small:
    I once could pick a goose;
    But my buttons is no use,        20
    Faith, my tightest coat is loose,
      Molly dear.
  And I ’m not myself at all!
    If thus it is I waste,
    You ’d betther, dear, make haste,        25
Before your lover ’s gone away intirely;
    If you don’t soon change your mind,
    Not a bit of me you ’ll find,
And what ’ud you think o’ that, Molly Brierly?
    Oh, I ’m not myself at all!        30
  Oh, my shadow on the wall,
      Molly dear, Molly dear,
  Isn’t like myself at all,
    For I ’ve got so very thin,
    Myself says ’t isn’t him,        35
    But that party girl so slim,
      Molly dear.
  And I ’m not myself at all!
    If thus I smaller grew,
    All fretting, dear, for you,        40
’T is you should make up the deficiency,
    So just let Father Taaff
    Make you my betther half,
And you will not the worse for the addition be—
    Oh, I ’m not myself at all!        45
  I ’ll be not myself at all,
      Molly dear, Molly dear,
  Till you my own I call!
    Since a change o’er me there came
    Sure you might change your name,        50
    And ’t would just come to the same,
      Molly dear,
  ’T would just come to the same:
    For if you and I were one,
    All confusion would be gone,        55
And ’t would simplify the matther intirely;
    And ’t would save us so much bother,
    When we ’d both be one another—
So listen now to rayson, Molly Brierly;
    Oh, I ’m not myself at all!        60

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