How mother, when we us’d to stun
Her head wi’ all our naïsy fun,
Did wish us all a-gone vrom hwome:
An’ now that zome be dead, an’ zome
A-gone, an’ all the pleäce is dum’.
How she do wish, wi’ useless tears,
To have ageän about her ears
The vaïces that be gone.
Vor all the maïdens an’ the bwoys
But I, be marri’d off all woys,
Or dead an’ gone; but I do bide
At hwome, alwone, at mother’s zide,
An’ often, at the evenèn-tide,
I still do saunter out, wi’ tears,
Down drough the orcha’d, where my ears
Do miss the vaïces gone.
POLL.
When out below the trees, that drow’d
Their scraggy lim’s athirt the road,
While evenèn zuns, a’móst a-zet,
Gi’ed goolden light, but little het,
The merry chaps an’ maïdens met,
An’ look’d to zomebody to neäme
Their bit o’ fun, a dance or geäme,
’Twer Poll they cluster’d round.
An’ after they’d a-had enough
O’ snappèn tongs, or blind-man’s buff,
O’ winter nights, an’ went an’ stood
Avore the vire o’ bleäzen wood,
Though there wer maïdens kind an’ good,
Though there wer maïdens feäir an’ tall,
’Twer Poll that wer the queen o’m all,
An’ Poll they cluster’d round.
