Роберт Бернс (Robert Burns)

* * *

O SAW ye my dear, my Phely?
O saw ye my dear, my Phely?
She’s down i’ the grove, she’s wi’ a new love,
  She winna come hame to her Willy.

What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
What says she, my dearest, my Phely?
She lets thee to wit that she has thee forgot,
  And for ever disowns thee, her Willy.

O had I ne’er seen thee, my Phely!
O had I ne’er seen thee, my Phely!
As light as the air, and fause as thou’s fair,
  Thou’st broken the heart o’ thy Willy.

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