Haste not thine wisdom, for the hollow is ta'en - By whom, know I not; 'lack! am I of twain - And as a crux - cede I my words - Have I been 'sooth sinsyne. Fro my heart wilt thou ne'er Be left without - come! Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine, Ryking for me: "List and heed", thou say'st Chancing to lure. Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown 'tis - Dodge na 'way herefro, do come here in eath! Mayhap luréd by the scent of lote - 'Od! - the fœtid - eft hie back I mote; For what I did my soul atrouncéd, O! do believe me, 'twasn't a frounce. How I wish for thee again, Will I give thee it: Troth. Thine voice is oh so sweet, I speer thine pine, Ryking for me: "List and heed", thou say'st Chancing to lure. Skirl and skreigh, but for thine ears, aye, lown 'tis - Dodge na 'way herefro, do come here in eath!