Awaÿ so feäir;
But how I wish'd that I wer there.
But when I clomb the lofty ground
Where livèn veet an' tongues did sound,
At feäir, bezide your bloomèn feäce,
The pertiest in all the pleäce,
As you did look, wi' eyes as blue
As yonder southern hills in view,
Vrom Paladore—O Polly dear,
Wi' you up there,