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.