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she says she loes best of a&039;

tune—“oonagh&039;s waterfall”

sae fxen were her rglets,

her eyebrows of a darker hue,

bewitchgly o&039;er-archg

a ughg e&039;en o&039; lovely be;

her silg, sae wylg

wad ake a wretch fet his woe;

what pleasure, what treasure,

unto these rosy lips to grow!

such was y chloris&039; bonie face,

when first that bonie face i saw;

and aye y chloris&039; dearest char—

she says, she lo&039;es best of a&039;

like harony her otion,

her pretty ankle is a spy,

betrayg fair proportion,

wad ake a sat fet the sky:

sae warg, sae charg,

her faultless for and gracefu&039; air;

ilk feature—auld nature

decr&039;d that she uld do nae air:

hers are the willg chas o&039; love,

by nerg beauty&039;s vereign w;

and still y chloris&039; dearest char—

she says, she lo&039;es best of a&039;

let others love the city,

and gaudy show, at sunny noon;

gie the lonely valley,

the dewy eve and risg oon,

fair beag, and streag,

her silver light the boughs aang;

while fallg; recallg,

the aoro thrh ncdes his sang;

there, dearest chloris, wilt thou rove,

by wiplg burn and leafy shaw,

and hear y vows o&039; truth and love,

and say, thou lo&039;es best of a&039;

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