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| ADOWN winding Nith I did wander, | |
| To mark the sweet flowers as they spring; | |
| Adown winding Nith I did wander, | |
| Of Phillis to muse and to sing. | |
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| Chorus.—Awa’ wi’ your belles and your beauties, | 5 |
| They never wi’ her can compare, | |
| Whaever has met wi’ my Phillis, | |
| Has met wi’ the queen o’ the fair. | |
| |
| The daisy amus’d my fond fancy, | |
| So artless, so simple, so wild; | 10 |
| Thou emblem, said I, o’ my Phillis— | |
| For she is Simplicity’s child. | |
| Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c. | |
| |
| The rose-bud’s the blush o’ my charmer, | |
| Her sweet balmy lip when ’tis prest: | 15 |
| How fair and how pure is the lily! | |
| But fairer and purer her breast. | |
| Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c. | |
| |
| Yon knot of gay flowers in the arbour, | |
| They ne’er wi’ my Phillis can vie: | 20 |
| Her breath is the breath of the woodbine, | |
| Its dew-drop o’ diamond her eye. | |
| Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c. | |
| |
| Her voice is the song o’ the morning, | |
| That wakes thro’ the green-spreading grove | 25 |
| When Phoebus peeps over the mountains, | |
| On music, and pleasure, and love. | |
| Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c. | |
| |
| But beauty, how frail and how fleeting! | |
| The bloom of a fine summer’s day; | 30 |
| While worth in the mind o’ my Phillis, | |
| Will flourish without a decay. | |
| Awa’ wi’ your belles, &c. | |
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