This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
The mucking o' Geordie's byre,
And shooling the gruip sae clean,
Has gar'd me weit my cheeks,
An' greit wi' baith my e'en.
It was not my father's will,
Nor yet my mither's desire,
That e'er I should fyle my fingers,
Wi' mucking o' Geordie's byre.
There lives an auld farmer ca'd Geordie,
A wee bittock south o' the Tweed,
O' three bits o' farms he's ca'd lordie,
Three snug little mailings indeed, &c.]
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.
A wa' wi' your belles and your beauties!
They never wi' her can compare:
Whoever has met wi' my Phillis,
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.
The daisy amused my fond fancy,
So artless, so simple, so wild;
Thou emblem, said I, of my Phillis,—
For she is simplicity's child.
The rosebud's the blush of my charmer,
Her sweet balmy lip when 'tis prest:
How fair and how pure is the lily!
But fairer and purer her breast.
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 of diamond her eye.
Her voice is the song of the morning.
That wakes through the green spreading grove,
When Phœbus peeps over the mountains,
On music, on pleasure, and love.
But beauty, how frail and how fleeting,
The bloom of a fine summer day!
While worth in the mind of my Phillis,
Will flourish without a decay.
A wa' wi' your belles and your beauties!
They never wi' her can compare:
Whaever has met wi' my Phillis,
Has met wi' the queen o' the fair.