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:

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

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;

while worth in the mind o' my phillis,

will flourish without a decay.

awa' wi' your belles, c.